Текст книги "Outside the Lines"

Автор книги: Emily Goodwin

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER FIVE

We stare at each other, neither speaking, for several beats. Mindy looks back and forth, not following our expressions of abhorrence.

“Felicity,” Ben finally says and his eyes settle on my breasts. “Nice outfit choice.”

“Some idiot ran into me and it’s not my fault,” I say back. “Ben.”

“You two know each other?” Mindy asks.

“Yes,” Ben says the same time I say “No.” Ben clears his throat. “Why don’t you get started,” he says to me. “I’d hate for that asshole client to get upset.”

I purse my lips together and glare at him. Then I blink, grab my bag, and hurry past Mindy. We go to the center of the gallery and up a flight of wooden stairs that have been painted black.

My pulse is pounding, and I can’t take my eyes off of Ben’s ass as he ascends the stairs in front of me. It’s so perfect and tight. A quarter would bounce right off that thing. There is a door at the top of the stairs that creaks open. The smell of paint and clay hits me hard.

“Close the door,” Ben says and I just know he’s going to yell at me and call my boss or something of the like. He turns around and crosses his arms. He’s grinning. “You’re not the fat, ugly nerd I was told was coming to install the new computers and fix the website.”

“And you might not be the asshole client I thought you were.”

“Just might not be?”

I lift my left shoulder in a shrug but can hardly move it under the weight of the bag. “I don’t know you yet. You can at least tell what I look like in a second flat.”

“That is true,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. He leans against an L-shaped desk that’s cluttered with books and messy stacks of paper. “Why do you think I’m an asshole?”

I swallow, trying to will the blood rush to leave my cheeks. “The way Mindy talked about you. You sounded like a high-maintenance diva, to be honest.”

His face brightens as he smiles again. Then he raises an eyebrow. “You know Mindy?”

Crap. I could lie, right?

“I mean,” he continues. “She saw you, and you’re clearly not fat or ugly.” His eyes do one more sweep of my body. “Not at all. So why would she lie?”

“She’s sadistic?” I offer, voice going high pitched.

Ben tips his head like he’s studying me. “She is, but not that much.”

“We went to high school together,” I admit and am surprised by the relief I feel in saying that. “And we weren’t friends.”

“What, were you the popular hot girl and she wasn’t?”

I let out a snort—yes, and actual snort—of laughter and give Ben a “what the fuck are you smoking?” look.

“Other way around?” he asks like it can’t be true.

I put my hand to my chest, meaning to draw attention to the giant R2D2 on my shirt as if that proves my point. “Very much so.”

“Because you like Star Trek?”

I blink and look down at my shirt. Nope. I just … can’t. I shake my head and stare at him with wide eyes. The adrenaline is wearing off and things are feeling more and more awkward. I wave my hand in the air.

“Look, sorry I called you an asshole, though I really didn’t call you that. Just show me the computers and I’ll get things set up, fix your site, and leave.”

Ben still has that stupid grin on his face, and I hate how attractive he is with it. “You’re making me want to prove to you I’m not an asshole.”

“Really, you don’t have to. You did seem like you were legit sorry you ruined my shirt back there—”

“You said you weren’t upset,” he interjects.

“I’m not that upset. That shirt really doesn’t fit that well and I only wore it because I’m slacking on laundry. I don’t think I’ve even worn it in years.” Color rushes to my cheeks. Why am I saying this? Stop talking, Felicity. “Now … let’s just get this over with and be on our separate ways. Then you’ll never have to see me and think of this awkward moment again.”

“I’ll definitely be thinking about this again,” he says and pushes off his desk. I just now notice the flecks of paint on his hands and arms. If I hadn’t been so dumbstruck by his damn good looks, maybe I would have put two and two together and figured out he was Ben.

Though, I highly doubt that.

It was already in my mind that Ben was an older gay man, not a super attractive guy in his thirties with muscles and tattoos and a rather large bulge in his—

Stop. 

“Feel free,” I say and hold onto the strap of the heavy bag. Ben notices and steps forward to take it. Okay. Maybe he really isn’t an asshole. “So, your computers,” I start. “They were seriously old. How did you function?” I can be blunt right? We are past fake formalities by now.

Ben laughs. “I don’t use it much.” He must notice my shocked expression. “I bring my laptop with me everywhere I go and use that instead.”

“Oh good,” I say. “Because if you were one of those people that didn’t like computers, I’d … I’d really do nothing because I don’t know you and it wouldn’t matter at all.” I laugh, nervous. Fuck, why am I so awkward?

“We can change that,” he says, his dark eyes meeting mine and it’s like he’s looking into my soul, seeing how desperate I am for a good, hard fuck by something other than my neon-pink vibrator. Seriously, my wrists hurt from doing myself every night. Thanks, Mom, for forcing me to take piano lessons that started the wrist pain. Wait, no. Mom should be nowhere in this thought process. I blink and shake my head.

“But first,” he says when I just stare at him like he’s an all-you-can-eat cupcake buffet and I’m on a carb-free diet. “The computer situation. I did update what we have here. It’s easier to do bookkeeping in the office rather than brining my personal computer back and forth.”

“I bet. So you want me to set that up too?”

“I can do it.”

“I’m sure I can do it faster.”

He gets a devilish glint in his eyes. “I’m sure you can.”

Is he making a sexual joke or do I have a dirty mind? Fuck. Thinking about Ben and sex makes me warm and tingly all over. “Well, I’m here to help so … uh … I’ll help if you want my help, because that’s why I’m here. To help.” I internally wince at my own choice of words.

“So you can help?” he teases and goes around to his messy desk. I take a minute to look around the space. The “office” part opens into a large studio, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the street. Sheer curtains have been hung over them, several feet of fabric gathered on the floor. The walls are a mix of cracked plaster and exposed brick, and I’m not sure if it was done on purpose of if that it happened over time. It is very fitting for an art studio, nonetheless.

Shelves are pushed against the wall, every inch covered in paint, brushes, and other various materials. Several easels have been set up in the middle of the room, and some sort of statue was shoved in a corner, looking forgotten. The entire place is a mess, but it’s working. In fact, it wouldn’t work any other way. Chaos and creativity go hand in hand.

“That’s the new router you got?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s not very good.”

“The guy at the store recommended it.”

I put a hand on my hip. “You believe some teenager in a blue shirt over me?”

That grin is back on his handsome face. “How do I know you’re any more—or less—qualified?” He runs a hand through his thick hair. “Where did you go to school?”

“MIT,” I say right away then wish I could take it back. I got the majority of my schooling done there but actually graduated elsewhere.

“Fair enough,” he says. “What router should I get?”

“Considering the old wiring in this building, I’d get something stronger with a better range. I can write down some recs for you.”

His eyes fall onto my chest again. “Or we can go out to the store and get something together and then have dinner.”

“No,” I say right away, surprising myself. Hot Guy, aka, asshole-not-asshole Ben, just asked me out. Why is my gut telling me not to go? I’m not in high school anymore. This isn’t some setup to mock me. We’re adults. He wouldn’t ask me out if he didn’t actually want to go with me.

He looks taken aback, like he’s surprised at my insta-rejection. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope. I don’t have a husband either. I’m single.” Might as well get it all out there. “You?”

“No boyfriend or husband. And no official girlfriend or wife.”

“But you have something unofficial?”

“I date,” he tells me. “But it’s nothing serious.” I’m not sure what to think of that. “Look,” he says. “It’s not every day I spill coffee on a hot chick that thinks I’m an asshole.”

I smile. “That doesn’t happen to me every day either. Or ever. Really, it’s never happened.” I don’t remember the last time someone called me hot. Well, someone other than people at Comic Con admiring my accurate yet revealing costumes.

I put the router back in its package the best I can so Ben can return it. We start setting up the new computer.

“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asks me. I don’t, other than playing video games, working on my Comic Con costume, and binge watching Firefly on Netflix. “If not, I’d really like to take you out.”

“I think I can rearrange a few things,” I say. “Where are you going to take me?”

“What do you like?”

“When it comes to food? Uh, everything.”

He laughs, flashing perfect white teeth. “That’s easy. Friday night, eight o’clock?”

“Sure,” I say, a little breathless, and try my best to hide my smile. No harm can come of this, right? I push aside my initial fears to give this a go. I fire up the new computer and sit down. Ben goes into the studio and turns on music, streaming from his phone. It’s set to random, and goes through everything from Mozart to Pink Floyd. I keep stealing glances at him as I install the updates. Half his body is hidden behind an easel. His movements are frantic and jerky, unlike the smooth, graceful sweeps you see in a movie.

I catch a glimpse of his face and see he’s totally relaxed and in his element, even though I’m here. It doesn’t take long to get everything running. I use the old router to set up the internet, and even with the new computer, it’s slow as fuck. Or it is by my standards. But the website loads without a hitch. I love being right.

“It’s done,” I say and scoot the rolling chair back. I move my gaze to Ben. He’s enthralled in whatever he’s painting. Mindy said he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s working. Did that still apply? He likes something about me, and I don’t want to mess it up before we have a chance to even go out. I pack up everything and wait.

“Ben?” I finally call, voice soft.

He doesn’t look up.

“Ben?” I say a little louder. He flicks his eyes to me, seeming annoyed. There’s something dark in the way he looks at me, but it quickly vanishes as my name rolls of his tongue.

“Felicity. Are you done already?”

“I am.” I say. “Told you I was fast.”

“You most certainly are.” He blinks a few times, like he has to bring himself back into the here and now. He takes a handful of brushes to a sink, the white porcelain stained with paint, and washes them with care, not bothering to wipe the paint from his skin. He comes over to me, standing close to see the computer screen.

The smell of paint mixing with his cologne is intoxicating. It’s been so long that I’ve dated, well, anyone really, let alone someone like Ben. Someone cool and confident and probably totally normal. I always hope new people are just as weird as I am. All I can go on with Ben is his outward appearance and the little bit of himself he’s put into this office space.

He’s muscular, so he works out. He likes art—duh—and works in a chaotic mess. There’s one thing we have in common, at least. There is a Samurai sword hanging on the wall above his desk, and while it’s still in amazing shape, it looks antique. Other than that, he’s a mystery, and it scares and excites me at the same time. I suddenly feel so transparent: what you see is what you get when it comes to me. One look at the graphic T-shirt I’m wearing or hearing the Game of Thrones theme song play when my phone rings clues you into a lot about me.

“Is there anything else I can do to you—for you—before I go down … downstairs?” I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure how to act around someone like this, and it unnerves me. Just be yourself. I nod at my own thought, earning a curious look from Ben.

His dark eyes meet mine again. “I can handle it. Really. But Mindy needs help.”

“Not the kind I can give,” I mumble. A few awkward seconds pass, and Ben’s brow furrows like he feels bad I have to do this. “It won’t take long,” I say and grab my bag. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

“Friday.”

I turn to head down the stairs, but Ben stops me. I whirl around.

“I need your number,” he says, hand still gently holding onto my wrist. I can feel my pulse pounding under his fingertips.

“Right. And I should probably get yours.” I take a few steps back and set the bag down on his desk, pulling out random items until I find my phone at the very bottom. We exchange numbers, and Ben says he’ll call me Friday when he leaves the studio in the afternoon with details.

I walk down the stairs smiling. Not even Mindy fucking Abraham can ruin this day.

CHAPTER SIX

I’m still smiling as I pull into the small garage and wedge myself between my crap and my car. I let my mind wander to an impossible future, most likely setting myself up for disappointment because that’s just how I roll.

I’m not thinking about what our babies will look like, where we’ll spend our retirement, or anything crazy like that. No, I have limits. They might be way fucking out there, but they exist. I let myself think about Friday’s date turning into something more and that Ben can be my Plus One to Jake and Danielle’s wedding. Everyone would be impressed with him of course, not just because he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but because he’s a rich and famous artist.

Okay, I might have made that part up. I did a bit of online investigating when I got into the parking lot. Ben does make a decent living—very decent, in fact—and while he’s well known in the area, he’s not really famous. Which is good, because I wouldn’t fair well with paparazzi. He used to live in New York and has pieces in the Museum of Modern Art. He moved to Grand Rapids a few years ago, which seems odd. But oh well. It is what it is.

Ben is a real man. A living breathing man with rippling muscles and a tight ass. And he asked me out. I can’t stop thinking about our date, and my excitement is turning to nerves. I have all tomorrow and most of Friday to obsess about it.

*

 “Dammit,” I mutter when I remember I left the sprinkler on. I’m tired, it’s past my bedtime, and I just want to lay down. For a few seconds, I consider leaving it until morning, but I won’t be able to sleep knowing I’m wasting so much water. I pad into my bedroom to grab my phone to use as a flashlight, see it plugged in, and take a Lightsaber out of my closet instead. I flick it on, green light glowing around me, and head to the front door. I open the door only to quickly slam it shut. Bugs swarm around the porch light. I sigh, shut off the light, and grab my boots to go out the back where it’s a bit safer from killer mosquitos and moths.

Using the Lightsaber to illuminate the way, I go around the house and turn off the water. I start to coil up the hose when a dark figure catches my eye.

I freeze. Someone just walked up to my front porch. My heart skips a beat. It’s after 11:30. No one good comes knocking on your door after 10 PM.

I hold the Lightsaber in front of me like it’s a real weapon, the green glow reflecting off the cream siding of my house. I’ll just take a peek at who is on my porch before I run inside. If things go south, I’ll run and bang on my condo-neighbor’s door and beg Pearl to protect me.

She’s from the south and hasn’t lost a bit of her spunk at seventy-three. Plus she owns a shotgun.

A black Audi is parked in my driveway. It’s off, and I don’t see anyone else inside. I swallow and creep forward, heart hammering when the outline of a man in dark jeans and a dark T-shirt comes into view.

My mind goes a million miles an hour again, but instead of imagining drunken wedding reception sex with Ben, I’m thinking of this guy kidnapping me and running experiments.

I trip over the garden hose that I’d been coiling up, catching myself at the last minute. The man turns, having heard something rustle in the grass. Light from the street lamps hits his face.

It’s Ben.

What the fuck? Is he some sort of stalker?

“Felicity?” he calls.

Crap. I’ve been spotted.

I inhale and hold my arms down, trying to look casual. “Hi,” I squeak out and walk through the wet grass to the porch. Green light illuminates his face. “What are you doing?”

He holds up my wallet. “You left this. I figured you’d need it before Friday. I tried calling you, twice,” he adds quickly. “But you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh, shit,” I say. “I had my phone charging in another room.”

His eyes slide down my body and settle at the Lightsaber in my hand. “You’re a Jedi?” He gives me that infamous grin.

“I wish.” I hold up the Lightsaber. “It makes a great flashlight in a pinch.”

An eyebrow goes up and amusement sparkles in his eyes. He just nods. “And you needed it because?”

“I was turning off the sprinkler, and then I had no idea who was creeping around my house in the middle of the night.”

“It’s only eleven thirty.”

“Oh right,” I laugh. “That’s not late at all.” Normal people are still out of the house and socializing with friends at that hour. “Lost track of time. Feels later than it is. I stay up, I go out with friends.” Why can’t I stop talking? My lips are moving and words are coming out even though my brain is yelling at me to stop. Another thing I can’t stop is my gaze from sweeping down over his body. He’s got more paint on his clothes, and his hair is rumpled like he just had sex, which is incredibly attractive and off putting at the same time.

And I should clarify—it’s only off putting because that sex wasn’t with me.

“So you drove all the way out here to give me my wallet?” I open the front door and step in, mentally yelling and thanking myself for not locking the front door. I turn off the Lightsaber and toss it aside, and then flick on the porch light. Ser Pounce winds around my ankles, trying to make a sneaky escape. I push him back with my foot.

“It wasn’t a far drive.”

“Wait, how did you know where I lived?”

“Your license has your address,” he says and gives me my wallet. Our fingers touch as I grab it from him.

“Right, right. I just changed it too, like a month ago. I haven’t lived here that long and put off changing it because, well, who likes the DMV?”

He laughs and meets my eyes. “I don’t think anyone does.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Really. I’d be screwed in the morning without it. My car is on E.” I swallow. I should invite him in, right? Will that give the wrong implication? Do I care if it does, is probably the better question. I stare at him, suddenly terrified, as if he’s a vampire and by inviting him in, I’m giving him some sort of power over me.

Maybe I should wait for our date Friday. I’ll be prepared, dressed up, and maybe a little drunk.

Mosquitoes swarm around my door already, and when a moth swoops in, I know I have to close it or bust out the leftover tulle material from my fabric bin and make a net to sleep under.

“Want to come in?” I ask.

Ben is still looking at me. He hesitates, then smiles. “Sure.” He steps in and I close the door behind him. “You look like you’re ready for bed. Sorry if I woke you.”

“I was still up. Just playing games.” I step out of my little foyer and toss my wallet onto the recliner chair in the living room. Silence comes between us and I regret asking him to come inside. I have no idea what should happen next. What would happen in a book or movie?

We could hook up, have passionate semi-one-night-standish sex then go out Friday? Yeah, don’t think so. Sleeping with Ben tonight would make our first date not really a first, and then, shit. I don’t know.

I need to get better at this thing called being social.

“What game were you playing?” he asks, eyeing the PlayStation.

“The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt,” I say and try with every fiber of my being not to fear the Gamer Girl stereotypes. I fucking hate them. The whole Nerd Girl stereotype pisses me the fuck off, to be honest. I’d been quizzed more than once on my “knowledge” at a convention, and I only resisted punching the misogynistic asshat in the face to avoid being kicked out.

“I haven’t played that one yet,” Ben says. “But I want to. I haven’t—is that a Nintendo 64?” His eyes go wide.

“Yeah, saved from my childhood.”

“I haven’t played one of those in years. It still works?”

I nod. “It does. I have all the controllers and games from it too. Mario Kart on the 64 is still my favorite.”

Ben looks back at me with a smile. “Can we play?” He blinks quickly, as if he’s embarrassed for asking. “I mean, if you have to go to bed, I understand. Sometimes I forget most people get up early and have set hours since I don’t.”

My heart is about ready to jump out of my chest. “Yeah, we can play a few rounds.” I know I’m tired and need sleep, but a few rounds won’t hurt anything. “And I’m jealous of your lack of hours.”

He takes off his shoes. “It’s nice.”

I get out the game and two controllers, handing one to Ben. I let him chose his character first, watching intently like it’s an online personality test. It won’t tell you anything worthwhile, but it’s so important nonetheless.

He chooses Mario.

Safe move.  You can’t go wrong with Mario. I’m Toad, and we start the first Grand Prix race.

I win. Ben gets third. Not too shabby for not having played in years. A small part of me wonders if I should let him win the next race, since he’s in second the entire third lap. I can’t do it. I’m too competitive when it comes to games. Is that a flaw?

We end up placing first and second when races are over. The little celebration comes up on the screen. I watch it like I care, a little nervous to look at Ben. I want him to stay and play another round, but at the same time I’m so fucking tired from staying up so late.

“Well,” he says and set the controller on the coffee table. “I should get some sleep. I’m a guest speaker at an art class early tomorrow.” He stands and offers me a hand to help me off the couch. “And by early, I mean ten AM.”

“That’s almost my lunch break,” I say with a smile. Our eyes meet and he parts his lips. My heart skips a beat like a school girl eyeballing her crush across the cafeteria. “What kind of class are you talking to?”

He shrugs. “I’m not too sure. I’ll find out when I get there.”

I shake my head. “Thanks again for bringing me my wallet.”

“I’m glad I did,” he says and turns. We walk to the door together. “Good night, Felicity. See you Friday.”

“Yeah, Friday,” I say. He doesn’t lean in for a kiss or even give me a hug. He flashes that grin, and now I know he’s completely aware how charming he looks when he does it. I close the door and practically skip into my room for bed.

*

“You have got to knock it out of the park Friday night,” Cameron says to me, holding a spoonful of yogurt in the air. It’s Thursday morning, and I’m sitting in his office. “I’m talking tits out, dark eyeliner, and red lipstick. Stuff straight guys like.”

“Red lipstick doesn’t look good on me,” I say, stomach churning.

“It’s supposed to make you look more sexual, like remind men of how they want to put it in you or some nasty shit like that.”

My eyebrows push together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cameron shrugs. “I saw an article on Facebook about it, and that’s the real reason behind lipstick. To remind men that women have holes to stick it in.” He holds his hand up. “Their words, not mine. But isn’t the point of makeup to make you look more sexually attractive?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just to make you feel pretty?”

“You are too innocent sometimes with your viewpoints,” he sighs. “But seriously. You gotta take it up a notch.”

“You really think the gaming friend-zoned him?” The knot in my stomach tightens.

Cameron shrugs. “I can’t say. Adam thinks so.”

“Why can’t I be friends with a guy and go out with him and have sexual feelings or whatever? Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“You do become friends with people, but that’s later.”

I nod. My dream guy is the hot and sexy knight in shining armor, but he’s also my friend. He’s someone I can have steamy sex with, and can lounge around the couch in my PJs playing video games with. I want the best of both worlds.

Am I wrong to think that’s possible?

The strong, brooding, alpha-male is fine in fiction, but in real life, all that pushing up against a wall and fucking does not a real relationship make. I’ll have days when I’m not in the mood. I’ll have days when I’m sick and not attractive. I want the orgasm-so-hard-I-can’t-walk sex and love and friendship.

“And you think I can fix this?”

“Oh of course.” He takes another bite of yogurt. “You just have to show him you’re more than one of the guys.”

I nod, thinking I should probably listen to Cameron. He’s always given me great advice before, yet there is a knot in my stomach—a separate knot from the friend-zone knot—that says I should just be me. I want a relationship, not a one-night stand. Yeah, sex with a hot guy would be great too, but I can’t deny the deep-down longing for something long term.

Someday, right?

Someday I’ll figure this crap we call life out and learn how to fully ignore society’s definition of what a woman should be, from the way we look and dress to the way we’re supposed to clean the house, raise the kids, and have dinner ready and waiting on the table.

Someday.